Easier to Lie
by SimplyHermione
Summary: Hermione finds herself in a bed that's not hers, after a night she can barely remember, with someone who is definitively not her live-in boyfriend turned almost-fiance. In the aftermath, she finds it might just be easier to lie... DH compliant up to the epilogue. Timeline is 7 years post-cannon. Dramione.
1. Easier to Lie

**Author's Note: This story is inspired by Cassadee Pope's song, "Easier to Lie." I heard it, this story popped into my head, and it wouldn't leave until I'd started it. Hopefully you enjoy.**

 **This will, even though it may contain some mature themes, be the made-for-TV version of said themes. We won't be looking into the intimate details. Apologies if that disappoints.**

 **This is currently rated T for this chapter, though if you feel it should be M due to language, please let me know and I'll be happy to switch it.**

 **Disclaimer: As always, I don't own the characters or many of the locations, or any of the back story. Those are properties of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, I believe. I'm only responsible for the plot and any random characters I might add.**

 **Without further ado…**

* * *

My eyes open to the first light of a grey dawn. I blink as a headache starts to sink in. I knew I shouldn't have drank all that firewhiskey last night.

I shake my head against the pillow in a vague attempt to clear the dream from my head. A blond head, clear grey eyes…

Turning my head once more on the pillow, I realize something isn't quite right this morning. These sheets…

The light is dim, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach becomes clearer as I turn my head the other way.

A dark form takes shape on the other side of this rather large four-poster bed. This bed with these very, very nice sheets that indeed are not my sheets…

Sheets I feel quite clearly against my bare body.

Well, shite.

I don't have to have light to know who that is. His hair nearly illuminates itself.

So, not a dream then.

I take a deep breath to fortify myself.

Time to think through this rationally.

So, clearly, that amount of firewhiskey could bring anyone to shame. Even the supposedly brightest witch of her age.

Even if that age was seven odd years ago now.

When did Malfoy even _come in_ to the pub?

My fuzzy head can't even begin to think through all the details.

This moment. This one, right here, is the important one.

The one where I decide, quite resolutely, that I will not be waking him up. That I will calmly, rationally, begin to gather my things and make my way out that door I see vaguely on the other side of the room.

I begin to move. I carefully peel the sheets from my body, fully intent to ignore the pounding in my head as it contrasts with other more… pleasant… memories.

I make my way across the room, carefully picking through the random garments to find my own. As I pull my shirt over my head, I realize I haven't found my knickers. After a few more vague attempts, skirt in hand, I decide to abandon them. It's not as if he won't have remembered the occasion anyway.

All my stealth this morning is really just a delay of the inevitable.

* * *

In the increasingly clearer light of the morning, I make my way through the winding streets of Diagon Alley. I hadn't even known until this morning Malfoy had a flat here. Must have been how it was so easy to find in such a state of inebriation.

Not that I'll ever return.

Ducking into a side alley, I transfigure my clothing to a different set. Won't do to have someone recognize them as the same, anyway. I smooth down my hair and find my way to the Leaky Cauldron. It's not like it'll do me any good to have someone spotting me there of all places at the crack of dawn, but I need some food to clear my head and I'm not beyond asking if they have a hangover potion in stock.

Hannah's seen a lot, and her secret keeping's better than most, so she knows better than to ask once she takes my order of dry toast and juice, with a hangover potion to boot, and makes her way to the kitchens to prepare it.

A few moments later finds me with my head in my hands, toast and juice untouched, with an empty bottle and a stomach full of hangover potion.

Though my headache's quickly fading, my thoughts still manage to hurt all their own.

How could I possibly have been so uncategorically _stupid?_

I know not to drink beyond my capacity. Didn't my stent as a table dancer last Christmas Eve tell me as much?

Harry and Ginny had had quite a laugh at that, not to mention Ronald…

At the thought, my stomach squeezes in on itself all over again.

 _Ronald._

How could I have been so _stupid_?

Ronald. The reason I've yet to go home. The reason I've yet to figure all this out. The reason my decision-making was so, unbearably ignorant and altogether uncaring and unfeeling and…

Ugh!

How will I ever convince him to marry me now?

Contrary to popular belief, I haven't been the one dragging my feet in our relationship. I haven't been the one waiting to be sure, trying a live-in situation before making it official, or waiting well past my prime to put a damn ring on it already.

In fact, this very issue is what found me at that very pub last night, some skeezy joint in the side streets of Knockturn Alley where I figured I could drown it all out for just one night without anyone ever being the wiser…

Fat lot of good that did me.

And now I'm crying.

Fabulous. Just fabulous.

Hermione Jean Granger, sobbing her eyes out at the Leaky Cauldron of all places, at the crack of dawn with an uneaten breakfast and an empty bottle of hangover potion on clear display in front of her.

I have to get out of here.

I have to go home.

I have to tell him the _truth_ , dammit, and I have to do it now.

I throw some cash on the table and am careful to avoid Hannah's eyes as I make way for the door.

I have no idea how I'm going to do this.

* * *

Carefully closing the door to our flat, I toe off my shoes and calmly hang my cloak on the tree just inside the door.

I begin to tiptoe toward the bedroom, then stop and emit a dry laugh. The snores to wake the dead are emanating from our room, and Ronald's never been a light sleeper. A rush of affection comes from my chest, and it hits me like a blast.

My eyes tear over all over again, and my teeth find my lower lip.

It's time.

I open the door to our bedroom, and there he is. The love of my life, the one I'd give anything for, the one I've waited on for so long.

The one I've just thrown away like he's nothing.

He is so. not. nothing.

Not to me.

I sit lightly on the bed and tap his shoulder.

As he rouses from sleep, he pulls me to him and I have no choice but to lie next to him, fully dressed, as he pulls me closer.

"Late night at work?" he mumbles, nuzzling my neck.

It wouldn't be the first time. I often stay all night, working on cases and coming up with new ways and innovations for the Department. Magical creatures don't have the clout to save themselves, as it were. And besides, I like the quiet when I work.

I take a deep, shuddering sigh, and he pulls me closer.

"Everything all right?" His eyes open, and at the sight of what must be my puffy ones, he pulls me even tighter.

"Oh, 'Mione, I'm so sorry…." He kisses me forehead, stroking my hair in the comforting way only he knows.

He's referring to yesterday. Yesterday, at lunch, when I'd pressed things and he'd recoiled and everything had gone to pot. Yesterday, before last night, when I went and decimated it all.

My teeth into my lip have become painful, and I swallow. "It's okay," I manage, and I cling to him.

He is my life.

He is everything.

He just. can't . know.

* * *

 **A/N: Please let me know what you think. It's been forever since I've been active on here, but this one just wouldn't go away until I started it.**

 **For those of you wondering, there will be definite tones of Dramione here, and it's my current end goal (unless they get their own ideas, that is).**

 **Thanks!**


	2. How It All Started

**Author's Note: I hope to update this semi-regularly. Please encourage me if you're interested in this story and haven't seen an update in a while. I tend to get busy…**

 **Also, in this version of events, Lavender Brown is attacked by Greyback but does survive, as a werewolf.**

 **Disclaimer: As always, I don't own the characters or many of the locations, or any of the back story. Those are properties of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, I believe. I'm only responsible for the plot and any random characters I might add.**

* * *

I've managed to make it through the rest of the weekend unscathed.

Well, physically, as it were.

And relationship-wise, I suppose.

The fact of it is, I haven't told him. I won't tell him.

I've made my mind, and that's that.

It was a one-time error. A serious lapse in judgment brought upon by a stressful workload and far too much firewhiskey.

And anyway, it's not as though it's a reoccurring possibility. It's not as though I _work_ with Malfoy or anything.

"Granger," mutters a voice behind me, just as I think the thought. Bugger the cold chill it brings.

I shrug it off.

It's only due to his close proximity to my ear.

I turn to face him.

"Malfoy."

Eyes lock. Tongue darts out to lick my lips. Eyes dart down to catch the motion.

Shite.

I look away, clear my throat. Try again.

"Something the matter?" I inquire, the pure façade of calm.

His eyebrows knit, face shutters closed, eyes grow cold, all in an instant.

"Nothing to mention, I suppose," he responds, the perfect touch of disdain.

Turning on his heel, he disappears into his office.

I sigh, retreat to my own.

Shut the door.

Lean hard against it.

Curse the day this whole thing started.

* * *

 _ **A Little Over a Year Ago**_

"Draco Malfoy? You're serious?" My eyebrows have joined forces with my hairline and aren't coming down any time soon.

Ananias raises his arms in what he must suppose is a disarming way, fingers splayed as if to say, "not my idea; don't blame me."

"They say he's changed," he states, in that calm voice he always uses when he thinks I'm being irrational. I hate that voice.

The sound that emits from my throat is something between a scoff and a laugh. "Sure. I'll believe it when I see it."

"When you see what, exactly?"

The voice is the same. The snark is the same. My fingers ball themselves against my palms almost reflexively. My nostrils flare.

Throwing a glare at Ananias and firmly _not_ looking in the direction of the voice, I spin on my heel, retreat to my office, and slam the door for good measure.

Once safely inside, I will my fingers to uncurl themselves. I've left half-moon imprints in each of my palms. Lovely.

My mind wanders through every available expletive with no new solutions for my trouble.

For some reason, some unfathomable reason, my dear, sweet supervisor has found it necessary to hire Draco. Bloody. Malfoy to be the new Head of the Beast Division of the department. Does he _know_ about the incident with Buckbeak? And he supposes he'll just, what? Figure it all out?

The wit required to liaison with the centaurs alone is insurmountable for most, let alone someone of his… caliber.

And straight into the job? It took me years to convince Ananias I had the grit to handle Head of the Being Division. Years!

I refuse to work with him.

I absolutely, resolutely, refuse.

* * *

 _ **Back to Present**_

I am told, of course, that I have no choice but to work with him. It's that or the door, Ananias says, when he's finally had enough of my whining.

So I do.

He doesn't turn out to be such a terrible employee, as it happens, and throughout the year we come to know one another. In a way.

Much to my surprise, he has developed a keen eye for how to handle beasts in distress, and he's even able to keep some of the more dangerous ones from being put down. He does indeed have the wit required to banter with the centaurs, and the dragon tamers seem to like him well enough. He's a capable enough supervisor, and the individual heads of each sub-division seem to follow him easily enough.

I suppose those leadership skills he demonstrated in Hogwarts weren't all for money and show.

We've developed a begrudging sort of friendship, in a way, and he has been a listening ear on more than one occasion in which Ronald has done something daft throughout the nights we've happened to spend in the department. In the nights we both happen to stay late, we'll often bring our work to the common space and work alongside one another. It's still quiet, most nights, but it's peaceful.

I'm not sure how it will be now. Now that we've…

I take a shallow but purposeful breath. Let it out. Blink hard.

Thinking on it now, of course, leaning against my door in much the same fashion as I did that first day, I realize it might have been proper to put some boundaries in place.

It just hadn't occurred to me, to be honest. It hadn't occurred to me that that might be a possibility.

I hadn't seen Malfoy as anything but a casual work acquaintance who happened to be surprisingly decent at his job and far more intelligent than I'd given him credit for.

I just hadn't seen it.

* * *

It's time for lunch, and I'm torn.

I'm torn because typically, Malfoy and I would do a working lunch, provided we had any business to discuss.

With the werewolves petitioning again for a department transfer, there's plenty of business, so there's plenty of reason to meet.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Pluck up that Gryffindor courage and steel myself.

Find myself at his office door.

Knock.

"Come in."

I enter. Close the door; no, open the door. No, close the door most of the way.

Pause.

Look at the door.

Yes, close the door.

Surely we can be grown-ups about this.

Nod resolutely.

Turn to him.

He is standing. One eyebrow is perfectly arched, his mouth twitching as if to smile. He says nothing.

I ignore the red that floods to my cheeks. Clear my throat. Seat myself across from him. Open my notes. Take on my best business tone.

"So, according to my records from our last meeting, Lavender Brown has requested a meeting with us this Wednesday at 1:00pm to discuss the petition."

He sits. Chuckles slightly to himself; shakes his head.

"Yes," he replies, matching my tone with his and opening his notes as well. "Have you spoken with Ananias?"

* * *

 **A/N: Please let me know what you think. Reviews are the best, and I know regular updates will be so much easier if I know people are invested. Also, I like to know what you think of what I'm writing, where the story is going, all that. Thanks!**


	3. My First Mistake

**Author's Note: Still working on it. This version of Hermione is so different from my norm, and also so different from me. It makes her story, especially from her perspective, so much harder to tell. But I think it's still worth telling, even with the extra effort involved, so here I am. =) You're welcome?**

 **Disclaimer: As always, I don't own the characters or many of the locations, or any of the back story. Those are properties of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, I believe. I'm only responsible for the plot and any random characters I might add.**

* * *

I suppose, if I were to consider it, the boundary issue started more within the conversation than within the physical realm, though it honestly wasn't far behind.

I remember one incident, about three months after my newfound coworker's arrival, wherein Ronald and I had had a particularly bad row about my hours spent at work.

There was a party of some sort that night, some sort of family event he'd wanted me to attend. Possibly it was George's birthday?

No matter, the point is that I simply couldn't attend.

The Gringott's goblins had been threatening a strike again, and I simply couldn't leave without attending to the problem.

I felt surely he'd understand, but he hadn't a clue.

Instead, he'd gone on and on about _priorities_ and how I never did anything for him, always expecting him to be the one to cave.

It was ludicrous, honestly.

It had nothing to do with me. Wizarding Britain wanted to maintain its banking services, didn't it?

I expect I'd acted a bit different from my norm that evening, even as I'd resolved to do my work as normal.

"Well, what is it, then?" came the voice from across the room.

I glanced up, startled, blinking quickly to focus. I hadn't even seen Malfoy enter, but he clearly had, as he was now seated at the desk across the room, work splayed in front of him as though he had been there quite a while.

"Excuse me?" was my, admittedly delayed, response.

"I said," he emphasized slowly, pinning me with a look, "what. is. it?"

"What," I repeated, just as slowly, squaring his eyes with my own, "is. what?"

"Honestly, Granger," he breathed out, throwing his hands into the air, "how do you expect me to concentrate with all that sighing you're doing?"

"All the… what _sighing_?" I hadn't realized I was _sighing_. Had I been sighing?

"Clearly something's the matter, so you can either talk about it or, for Merlin's sake, keep your heavy breathing to yourself." His lips pursed slightly, his face and eyes turning back to his work in what appeared to be an effort to feign indifference. The secondary glance up toward me betrayed him at the last.

"I… oh." Had I actually made any noise? I suppose I had, then.

Hesitantly, I began to speak.

I likely spoke for longer than I'd intended to speak, but ultimately managed to relay the full story to him. He listened without a word, the occasional nod or hand gesture the only signal he'd even heard what I'd said as I said it.

After, he looked at me for a beat, one eyebrow perfectly arched.

Then, with a shrug: "He's a dolt."

I couldn't help it. Honestly, I couldn't help it.

I laughed. And he laughed. And there was mutual laughter in our otherwise quiet department.

It was the first of many similar conversations.

* * *

Talking about Ronald with him became a… thing, I suppose. I couldn't exactly talk with Harry or Ginny about him, so it just sort of happened that way.

Any time we had a row, Malfoy would somehow sense (though I swear to you I wasn't being obvious about it) that something was wrong, and we'd talk it out.

Just as two somewhat friendly acquaintances might, nothing more.

We'd end up laughing about something or another, sometimes at Ronald's expense, but that never bothered me because, well, in those moments he was well deserving of being laughed at.

He did some of the most ridiculous things.

And I know some would say it's not wise.

I know some would say it's even precisely _un_ wise, as it were.

I'd just never considered it.

What you have to consider is that you know the ending of this story. You know that certain… indiscretions may or may not have occurred. You now have the full hindsight; the clear picture, as it were.

I did not.

And I'm not sure I'd have believed you if you'd even tried to warn me.

Ludicrous, is what I'd have thought. Ludicrous to even consider.

Just plain ludicrous.

I still don't know how it happened.

* * *

If I've given you the wrong impression about Ronald and I, honestly, that wasn't the point.

We were great.

We were excellent, in fact, and still are.

Are… were… have been?

No matter, good things have happened with Ronald and myself.

Good things like last Christmas.

Before the aforementioned table dancing, as it were.

That morning was truly one of our sweetest moments.

I'd just awoken, feeling his breath on my shoulder just before he placed a sweet kiss on the exposed skin he found there.

"Morning, beautiful."

I'd shivered in response, my whole body responding in the way it only could with him.

As I turned to meet him, his lips met mine, almost of their own accord, and I was lost in him all over again.

Our morning kisses have always been the best, all still sensitive and new, regardless of how many times we've accomplished the act.

This particular morning was special, though.

It was our first Christmas living together.

That morning, everything was amazing.

We could pretend, as we wrapped ourselves in our bubble of one another, that we were well and truly together. We could imagine the future, or at least I could.

That morning, nothing could stop us from achieving the impossible, overcoming all the odds, and eventually starting the family we were saving for our marriage. We could imagine the next Christmas, and the one after that, and the one after that, too.

He must have repeated that he loved me over thirty times that morning, and I must have responded just as much.

It all came together in one cadence, just the two of us together.

And it was beautiful.

It really was.

I'd have given anything for him.

I still would.

* * *

Moments like that beautiful one with Ronald weren't the ones that Malfoy and I discussed, however.

I didn't feel it was quite appropriate to the work environment, as it were.

So, if I were to be well and truly honest, I'm not sure how he thought things were truly going with Ronald.

I'm not sure he got the full picture, as it truly was.

It just hadn't occurred to me to give him the good along with the bad.

And perhaps that was my first mistake.

* * *

 **A/N: As always, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


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